Frivolty

It's been noted that I dislike painting. Painting as in the walls. I'm not a fan. Not only do I not enjoy it, I'm not particularly good at it either.

But...those God-awful sponge-painted walls aren't going to paint themselves, more's the pity.

So today, I primed. See, the sponge paint is just dark enough (someone loveingly picked out a deep mauve, a smoky gray and a stormy blue for the bathrooms and a NAVY blue for the hall, egads@) that I would have to paint something lkie twenty-nine coats of the 'soap-bubble white' paint I want on the walls of the master bath, guest bath and upstairs hall.

I know, white. But it's not sponge paint and really, isn't that all that counts?

But the problem with priming? Is that I know that tomorrow (or next week or perhaps even next month) I'm going to be back up there painting the very same walls with the actual paint. And if that's not the definition of boring I don't know what is.

It has to be done, though. So I do it.

And what do you know? That person who painstakingly chose those sponge-paint colors? That very same person was SO committed sponge-painting that they painted behind the mother-loving toilets. BEHIND THE TOILETS. Oh for heaven's sake.

And you know that this means, don't you? It means I had to prime BEHIND the toilets.

Hell, I barely clean back there, why would I want to prime/paint back there?

Yet, I shouldn't complain, should I? At least I have bathrooms and a hall to prime and paint, right?

And so my complaints are frivolous. But they're my frivolous complaints and so I record them here.